


An Angel's Chosen One

by transaizen



Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Mute Doom Slayer, doomguy wakes up pre-2016 doom, doomguy's not very impressed, he's samuel's chosen one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26675692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transaizen/pseuds/transaizen
Summary: The Slayer wakes up early.-An investigation into the Slayer and Samuel Hayden's relationship on the Mars UAC base as the Slayer comes to grips with Samur's interference in his life and Samuel is reminded of what he's doing this all for.
Relationships: Doom Slayer | Doomguy/Samuel Hayden
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

He’s mute.

Samuel hadn’t expected to hear pure silence when the sarcophagus opened and the Slayer awoke, rising from his slumber for the first time in millennia. He’d expected rage, pure and raw and  _ loud. _ But the Slayer had said nothing at all. It’s unnerving. It’s almost… upsetting.

They hadn’t awoken him, and there was nothing here for him to conquer and triumph over - though with Olivia around and her mental health rapidly becoming more unstable and unpredictable, Samuel knew it was only a matter of time. So why had he risen from his sarcophagus? Was it because of Samuel’s presence?

Could he feel the presence of the angel who had bestowed upon him that terrible gift of strength?

But when the Slayer looked at him, he saw no recognition in his eyes, only raw anger and confusion, the look of a man who was a millennia out of time. A man who had been trapped in a small, dark, cramped coffin, unable to fulfill his single-minded goal of ripping and tearing. The only purpose left in his life, the purpose that Samuel had seen seared into his soul and found him worthy for.

Samuel’s taken to hovering near him, wasting precious time and attention on a man who seems perfectly satisfied to pretend he doesn’t exist. It’s been so very long since he’s seen the Slayer, the greatest of the Sentinel warriors, the person he had been willing to be outcast by his home for. It’s against his nature to be nostalgic, but the Slayer is different. He’s special.

Samur the angel had long haunted the battlegrounds of the Night Sentinels, finding them curious, fascinating little creatures, but once the Slayer had come… Oh, Samur  _ knew  _ he had finally found the warrior he’d been waiting for.

His chosen warrior. His Slayer.

But he’s not Samur anymore, and the Slayer doesn’t look at him as he did then. That doesn’t stop him from staying near the man though, against his common sense.

The Slayer is half in his Praetorian armour when Samuel finds him in one the development labs, listening to VEGA describe the processes of their production. He wouldn’t have thought the Slayer would be interested in such things, but it’s understandable. VEGA has no fear. VEGA doesn’t shy away from the Slayer when he walks past, nor lower his voice into a whisper then the Slayer enters the room - not like many of the other humans on this base.

Samuel enters the room and the Slayer’s shoulders tense, clearly aware that he’s watching him. VEGA pauses briefly in his explanations to welcome him into the room and the Slayer looks over his shoulder at him.

“Slayer?” he asks when the warrior’s gaze strays away from him.

The Slayer’s eyes snap back to him and he stares silently. VEGA goes quiet.

Samuel realizes he doesn’t know what to say. He hasn’t been Samur for a very long time, and the Slayer has become someone different than who he used to know. Someone quiet, someone deemed untouchable by the masses - a mute, destructive, angry god instead of the loud, passionate, roaring companion of the Sentinels. A concept to be worshipped instead of a - a friend.

What had happened to him after the Divinity Machine? He knows the Titan, the Dreadnought, had been defeated just as he had wanted, the Crucible stabbed deep into its heart to keep it down. So the Machine had  _ worked. _ It had given him strength.

But why is he silent?

Samuel cocks his head and folds his hands in front of him, betraying himself with his Maykr mannerisms. “Nothing to say?” he asks, almost goading. “You’ve been rather quiet since you awoke.” When all else fails, even in the sourest of his moods, provoking the Slayer had always been a way of making him talk.

The Slayer simply frowns.

“Did your slumber in Hell leave you speechless?” He tries to pass it off as unconcerned taunting, but he can tell the Slayer notices the undercurrent of worry with the way his eyes narrow.

After a long moment of consideration, until Samuel is sure that the Slayer will not answer him at all, the Slayer slowly shakes his head. Not Hell. Something else did this.

Something, maybe, that should never have been used on a human. Something that was designed to channel raw energy, to grant pseudo-godhood onto a Maykr, that he had been warned against using on anyone else. He had done so anyways, granting strength and speed and near immortality to his chosen warrior.

Was this the price of his hubris? The Slayer’s voice taken from him, and Samuel’s own homeworld had cast him out.

“The price you paid… Was it worth it?”

The Slayer’s eyes narrow further and he sees the red, bloodsoaked gleam in his eyes that promises violence. He recognizes him now, fully, if he had not before. They had been allies once, and Samuel considers himself the Slayer’s ally still even the Slayer doesn’t agree.

If the Slayer kills him now over this then he supposes that sacrifice is worth it. As long as the Slayer keeps fighting. As long as he keeps  _ winning. _

Samuel knows he was right. His actions were correct -  _ are _ correct.

On that night when the Dreadnought appeared, when all had seemed lost, Samuel had seen defeat in the Slayer’s face and that could not stand. Not his chosen warrior. The defeat of the Slayer would be the defeat of all things, he could feel it. So he had made a choice and he knows, no matter what else, he had done what needed to be done and he has no regrets over it.

He could explain himself. He could offer up his usefulness, promise more gifts, offer more ways to help him on his journey, but Samuel says nothing as the Slayer stares at him, hands flexing. He had made his choices. It’s time for the Slayer to make his.

Then, jaw tense, the Slayer nods sharply and turns away decisively. Conversation over. VEGA waits a moment longer before he continues his description of the lab’s processes to the Slayer and Samuel takes his leave before the Slayer changes his mind about leaving him alive.

When the Slayer finally realizes what Argent energy is made from, and how, he wonders how long this truce of theirs will last.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doomguy POV this time!

It looks similar. Eerily so, sometimes. The branding of the UAC is slightly different and the buildings are sleeker, but he can see how easily one bleeds into the other. This UAC and the one he’d once been stationed at echo one another. He supposes it’s only a matter of time until they begin their own experiments into something dangerous, something outside of their grasp, and get punished for it.

Maybe he was brought here, awakened here, as a warning. A warning to the humans or to the demons he’s not sure yet.

Sometimes, he thinks he can recognize a face here and there, the same doctors and scientists from _before,_ but it’s been so long he wonders if maybe he’s just trying to find familiar things to soothe himself.

He turns down a hallway and sees blood, blood across the walls, splattered over green armour and white lab coats. Hellish fire and rust overtaking the facility, crawling across the walls, claiming the Mar’s bases. After a moment the vision fades into clean white and stainless steel, no bodies to be found. Memories of the past keep haunting him in this place and it’s _frustrating._

He has nothing to do here, nothing to kill, nothing to hunt. There are no screams of the damned or screeches of demons to accompany his steps through the halls. The lack of constant screaming feels deafening.

Days have passed and all he does is wander through sterile halls, footsteps echoing heavily. He refuses to part with his armour, at least not fully. It doesn’t help with his integration into these people’s lives, but he doesn’t care. It makes him feel secure. His Praetorian Suit is like a second skin. A lifeline.

Down another hallway and two scientists walking his way abruptly stop at the sight of him, their conversation cut off. They look like prey, frightened deer staring at the oncoming lights of a vehicle. When he gets near them, at the very last moment before he passes by them, they come alive and press themselves back against the wall, making themselves look small and staring at him with wide eyes.

He breathes out a quiet sigh and keeps going.

His neck prickles as he feels them staring after him. All of the mortals at this base fear him though he would never turn his wrath on them. Humans are stupid creatures, always bringing evil into their homes, thinking they’re clever enough to outrun their inevitable downfall, but he can’t bring himself to hate them. He’s one of them, after all.

Perhaps it’s the fact that he had been brought out of Hell himself to the Mars base that unsettles them. And there’s really no way of knowing how long he had been trapped in that fucking stone coffin - _God,_ does his blood boil when he thinks about how much of his time had been wasted, _stolen_ by those monsters. His fury had blinded him. He’d been reckless. And he had certainly paid for it. He remembers bashing his fists against the inside of the lid until his knuckles had gone bloody and raw, but it wouldn’t give.

Even with all of the god-like power given to him he still couldn’t break free from that cursed tomb.

And now he’s spent so long in Hell alone that he’s just… not sure how to handle normality anymore. How to handle the quiet, the lack of blood staining his skin, the stench of Hell not clinging to his senses. It feels wrong.

The fact the only voices he’s heard with any regularity are the holograms, the AI running this base, and _Samur_ of all people, doesn’t really help things. The last time he had been part of a commune, it had been the Sentinels. Warriors like him, those who weren’t part of his race but understood him all the same.

To rub salt in the wound, he’s not even sure of what happened to his company of Night Sentinels.They’d been cast away from each other in Hell, scattered by forces outside of their power. He assumes that they had most likely died, unable to find their way home and whittled away by Hell’s forces - but he’d made it. Someway or another, he’d gone through Hell and survived. He can only hope they did as well.

The priests… The Khan and her slaves. Traitors.

He’d never been interested in politics or science, ignoring the growing problems in Argent D’Nur and the corruption seeping into their ranks as long as he could keep slaying. Loyalty to the crown meant nothing. Loyalty to God meant nothing. The only thing that had mattered was killing demons.

That was his first mistake, assuming that Argenta and Maykrs were any different from prideful humans.

“Slayer, may I be of any assistance to you?” a polite voice asks him from a speaker in the ceiling. VEGA. He wonders if those scientists from before asked VEGA to intervene with his aimless wandering.

He looks up as he keeps walking, eyes searching out the cameras watching him. He shrugs. He’s taken a liking to this AI - he has interesting things to say and knows how to speak in layman’s terms. He wonders why the UAC in his world never had something as intelligent as this, and he can only come to the conclusion that Samur did something.

“If you are not currently preoccupied, Doctor Hayden is requesting your presence in Research and Development Lab B. May I guide you there?”

Ah. Speaking of the angel…

He’s not sure what he feels about Samur yet. He’s angry with him. Relieved he’s alive. Confused why he’s here, masquerading at being human.

Samur had been an ally, a _friend._ He’d given him a power unlike any other, granted him near invincibility to conquer demons - even Titans. The one thing he had craved above all else, Samur had given to him. And then he’d vanished before the Dreadnought had even fallen. He hadn’t even had the voice left to ask the Khan Maykr where he’d been banished to.

The Slayer isn’t stupid - he knows Samur was expelled because of what they’d done at the Divinity Machine.

But couldn’t have Samur have said _something_ before he’d left? Didn’t he deserve some kind of closure? And now he’s _here_ and it feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. Samur had rescued him from Hell but left him to sleep in that coffin until he awoke on his own and it’s _wrong._ And now he keeps hovering around the Slayer as though nothing had changed, as though he was still the angel guarding over the Slayer’s back.

He’s hiding something.

Samur has the bad habit of always thinking he’s right. He hadn’t known on Mars what evils science could bring, and he hadn’t known on Argent D’Nur what ignorance of politics could lead to. He knows now, and the Slayer won’t sit back this time.

He looks up at VEGA’s cameras and nods, motioning for him to lead on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think 👉👈 also come talk to me on [tumblr](https://doom-vega.tumblr.com/)!


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